


Cabbage Roses and Tea Leaves

by magickalmolly



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:12:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickalmolly/pseuds/magickalmolly
Summary: The rain was falling in a steady downpour outside, and for once, Crowley was glad to be inside the dusty bookshop.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written with the prompt of "A/C... and tea." Originally written September 5, 2005.

The rain was falling in a steady downpour outside, and for once, Crowley was glad to be inside the dusty bookshop. Not that the rain had dared to fall on him, but it was the principle of the thing. Outside was not only wet, but also dreadfully chilly. Aziraphale's sitting room, on the other hand, was always warm. Cluttered, but warm. 

Aziraphale claimed he'd been cleaning all morning. But with the smell of honey and spice heavy in the air, Crowley was more inclined to believe the angel had spent his time producing the glazed cake he was currently dividing into thick slices.

"I was rather hoping for a trip to the park today," Aziraphale said absently, handing Crowley a small china plate. The edge design was pink cabbage roses and gold fleur-de-lis; something from the mid-seventeenth century. Crowley was surprised Aziraphale still had the set. He knew at least two pieces had been broken well over a hundred years ago. Not that it had been his fault. If the angel hadn't insisted on dancing a gavotte in only his dressing gown, Crowley never would have dropped the plates in the first place. 

"Tea?" Aziraphale chirped, already filling a cup.

"Mm." Crowley answered around a forkful. His eyebrows rose when he detected rum in the spongy dessert, and his smile curled around his mouth, snakish and slow.

"Do you like it?" 

Crowley answer was to turn his fork over and lick the tines. Aziraphale's eyes widened behind his spectacles at the sight. When he set the teapot down, the lid rattled, and Aziraphale had to press his hand over it to stop the noise. 

"Well. Um. Did I tell you I visited that new shop up the street?" Aziraphale's voice piped with enthusiasm, warming to this new topic. "They have the most charming selection of dried leaves; several variations imported directly from China." Dipping his head to see to his own tea, Crowley watched in quiet fascination as the colour in Aziraphale's cheeks bloomed, cherry as the rosa centifolia on his cup. 

"The assortment _is_ quite fresh, but of course it doesn't compare to what was available last century." 

Aziraphale rambled on, pouring the milk and adding sugar [1], but Crowley found his attention wandering. Aziraphale's pale hair curled around his face today – moreso than usual, and presumably from the moisture in the air – but whatever the reason, Crowley was quietly charmed by it. The long sweep of Aziraphale's lashes, however, was considerably darker, and the whole effect was stunning in its simplicity. 

Not that the angel was simple. G- Sa- _Crowley_ knew first hand he was anything but.

However...

It was then that Crowley noticed the smudge of flour, right on the tip of Aziraphale's nose. How Crowley had missed it until now, he wasn't sure. Perhaps the rain had distracted him.

"...and so I said to the shopkeeper – oh!" Aziraphale exhaled softly, his blue eyes wide at the sight of Crowley's slim fingers reaching for him. Ever so gently, the warm pad of Crowley's thumb rubbed itself up against the white mark. Aziraphale's eyes crossed somewhat comically, trying to see just what it was Crowley was doing.

The sharp edge of Crowley's tongue poked out from his mouth in concentration. But his touch was soft as he brushed away the last of the powdery smudge. 

"You had a... Just there." Crowley leaned back, and Aziraphale did as well, not having realized he'd leaned forward in the first place. One of Aziraphale's hands floated unconsciously to his cheek, his throat, absently patting himself.

"Yes, well. Thank you, my dear."

The rain lessened, then stopped all together, as Crowley sipped his tea. When he peered out the shop's front window from over the tops of his sunglasses, gray patches of light could be seen through the clouds. Aziraphale, who had fallen silent, carefully placed his fork down on his now empty plate. 

"Angel?"

Aziraphale's eyebrows rose from over the rim of his cup.

"How about another ssslice?"

Aziraphale's smile was brighter than the sunshine outside as he took up the knife.

~fin~

 

[1] Three lumps, as always. Aziraphale was nothing if not fond of his sweets.


End file.
